


Unwavering

by Jaybeefoxy



Series: Flufftober Prompts 2020 [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Do Not Translate, Fluff, Flufftober, Flufftober prompts 2020, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystrade fluff, You do not have permission to post to another site, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26905399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaybeefoxy/pseuds/Jaybeefoxy
Summary: Mycroft is sick and Greg is his rock, as always.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Flufftober Prompts 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950532
Comments: 6
Kudos: 106
Collections: Mystrade Sickfics / Hurt-Comfort Collection





	Unwavering

**Author's Note:**

> Day eight, flufftober mystrade prompts 2020.

Mycroft had only been admitted to hospital twice in his life. Both times had been Sherlock’s fault. The first time was for a concussion, caused when Mycroft had heard his seven year old brother screaming for help. He had, of course, run pel mel to the rescue, and had tripped over a trap Sherlock had set, hitting his head badly enough to knock himself out. Mummy and father had not been very sympathetic, and Sherlock had thought it a huge joke.

The second time, he had broken his leg, falling out of a tree. That was also Sherlock’s fault, because he was already up the tree and claimed not to be able to get down. Mycroft had gone up to help, whereupon Sherlock had come down, out of the tree, and left him there. He had tried to get down and missed his footing, and dropped, landing awkwardly. He had been in traction for weeks and missed returning to school in the autumn term.

Greg noted that Mycroft had looked a little unwell that morning, but he had disappeared to work and Greg had gone to the Yard, not overly worried because his husband often suffered IBS if he was under stress and this was seemingly no different. However, a text arrived after lunch which ramped up his worry a notch or two.

**MHolmes 15:35 Returning home early. Not feeling too well. Join me when you are able. Please.**

_Please?_ A little more concerned—this wasn’t usual behaviour for his husband—Greg just about managed to sort things so he could leave, only to have Sherlock turn up unexpectedly. That made him later than intended, so he ran into rush hour traffic, which slowed him up even more.

“Mycroft?” Greg hung his coat up and waited, but there was no sound from the house. Puzzled, he went in search of his husband. Not in the kitchen. Not in the tv room either, or the library… “Myc?” Starting to get a little more worried, Greg took the stairs two at a time and went into the bedroom, only to find his husband lying on the bed, fully dressed, a pained look on his face.

"Mycroft? Gorgeous, what’s wrong?”

“Gregory…” He was pale, sweating, clutching a hand to his groin. He swallowed, looking sick.

“Oh, love...it’s okay, I’m here. You’re in pain? How bad?”

"Quite bad…”

“I’ll be right back. Just...relax as much as you can.” Greg dashed downstairs, placing a call as he went. "Ambulance please."

"Is the patient breathing?"

"Yes, he's conscious, complaining of severe pain in his abdominal region, right hand side, groin area…vomiting, pale complexion, clammy. Not bleeding." He grabbed a bowl from under the sink and dashed back, by which time he'd answered all the questions and been reassured an ambulance was being dispatched.

"Ambulance on its way…" Greg panted, shoving the bowl under Mycroft's nose.

"Really, Gregory...it isn't…" he paused, relaxing a little. "The pain is…lessening."

That wasn't necessarily a good sign. "You need hospital, love, and fast. I'm not a doctor and even I know this could be an appendicitis. You need to go to hospital, love."

He sat in the ambulance less than twenty minutes later, holding his husband's hand as they went in on blues and twos, carving their way through red lights and scattering evening traffic like chaff. Greg spent a tense time as Mycroft was assessed by the A&E team, then rapidly moved to scans and then to surgery.

He waited as Mycroft was placed in recovery, surfacing long enough to satisfy the nurses, then taken to ICU.

"Mr Holmes-Lestrade?"

"Yes…"

"Your husband is out of surgery. Prognosis is good, despite the situation. Good thing you called for an ambulance when you did. His appendix had burst…"

The doctor went on to outline the treatment, intervention and recovery expectations with him, reassuring him that Mycroft would most likely make a full recovery, provided there were no complications. Greg was allowed into the ward, and took up vigil by Mycroft's bedside. 

"Absolutely not!" Greg's voice cut through Mycroft's hazy thoughts, and Mycroft opened his eyes on his husband blocking the door. "You are not coming in here, flouting hospital rules, and putting your brother at risk. No. Go home, Sherlock. You can see him tomorrow when he's more awake. You know if you'd not swanned in to my office and delayed me getting home, this might have been avoided. His appendix burst, Sherlock. You're not thick, you should know how dangerous that might have been." There was a murmured exchange but Mycroft could not hear. "Tomorrow, Sherlock. I'm not backing down over this." Gregory was assertive, standing firm.

He eventually closed the door and came back to the bed. Gentle fingers caressed Mycroft's cheek. "My brother is nothing if not persistent," Mycroft murmured.

"Oh, God. You're awake? How are you? You okay?"

"Vastly better now." 

"Good." Mycroft heard Greg's sigh.

"You were.. **.unwavering** ," he observed. "You're very protective."

"Sometimes I have to be. He's in his cocky mood, your brother. I'm not letting him in to see you if there's a threat of him upsetting you."

Mycroft smiled. "Thank you, Gregory. You are my...my rock, as always."

"Yeah, that's me. Rest well, Gorgeous. I'm not going anywhere. I'm unwavering in that as well."


End file.
